


...And Everything After

by Recourse



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Established Relationship, F/F, Love Wins, Mental Illness, No Storm AU, mild dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recourse/pseuds/Recourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's June 26th, 2015. Everyone's talking about the same thing. </p><p>And Chloe's not happy about it, even if she wants to be.</p><p>Continues the AU from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6596662/chapters/15090970">"Pedestal."</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	...And Everything After

She first hears about it at the auto shop.

She arrives early, as usual, and is already halfway through checking everything on this POS Kia Spectra for the ‘weird noise’ the client was reporting when Glenn strolls in. He looks at her through the windshield, and he’s got a shit-eating grin on, which is weird because his totally-bored expression and general apathy towards Chloe’s apprenticeship have been almost comforting up till now. Thoroughly unnerved but still focused on the task at hand, Chloe reaches for the A/C controls and flips them to the third fan setting and the near-center of the temperature control panel.

Huh. That is a weird noise.

Glenn raps his knuckles on the window, so Chloe rolls it down and peers at him. “What?”

“Did you hear?” he asks.

“Yeah, think it’s something caught in the driver’s-side vent, almost sounds like—”

“No, no,” he says, waving his hand in front of his face. “Y’all can get married now.”

“Huh?”

“Like, you people, you know.”

“Us people.”

“Yeah.”

“Washington passed that in like 2012, dude, get with the times.”

“No, I mean everywhere,” Glenn clarifies, spreading his arms out wide. “Whole country. Supreme Court settled it this mornin’.”

A deep panic strikes Chloe’s chest. She swallows. “Oh, uh, cool, I guess.”

“You guess? Ain’tchu always talking about that girl of yours? High school sweetheart, right?” Glenn reaches in a chubby finger and pokes Chloe’s cheek. “Something eating you?”

“Dude, I didn’t think you listened when I talked.” Chloe rubs the back of her neck. “But, like, yeah, it’s good and all, but we’re working, right?”

“Sure.” Glenn’s expression defaults to neutral. Chloe breathes a sigh of relief. The car. She can work on the car. That usually staves off the head-bullshit for a while.

 

* * *

 

But it’s all she hears about, all goddamned day.

Customers tell her about it, which is sort of annoying because Chloe has to think, _Is it because I just_ look _really gay or are they just hyped in general?_ The attendant at the gas station tells her about it when she stops to fill up before heading home. And Jesus, Twitter. Hashtags all over the place. She stares at her phone as she steps inside the apartment, pursing her lips, trying to figure out why she’s not happy. Why she feels cold and sick and weird.

She sits down on the couch and keeps staring and scrolling and wanting to feel better. Wanting to not think the things that she’s thinking.

The screen swaps to show who’s calling, breaking her out of her thoughts as the ringtone fills the apartment. Mom. Of course. _Fuck._

Should she even answer? Talking to people when she’s like this fucking sucks. At least, talking to non-Max people.

She doesn’t answer. The phone rings again, and now Mom’s gonna be pissed. _Nice going, Price._ She sighs at herself, at her general existence, as she finally picks up the call.

“Chloe! Did you hear?”

Of _course._

“Yeah, yeah, I heard,” Chloe grunts. “You got anything else to say or just—”

“So now you’ve got no excuse,” Joyce interrupts. “When are you gonna make her an honest woman?”

Chloe groans. “Mom—”

“It was always, ‘we can’t get married ‘till everyone can,’ right? Well—”

“ _Mom._ ”

“You two have been living together for practically two years now, I don’t see why—”

“Oh my God, Mom, stop, okay?”

“Now I know you—”

“Mom, shut the fuck up!” Chloe shouts, clutching at her hair with her free hand and squeezing her eyes shut.

There’s a brief silence. “Chloe, don’t you—”

“I know, I know, sorry,” Chloe says, trying to get control of her breath back. “Just...” She tries to remember what Max always says. Be honest and straightforward and whatever, especially with Joyce. Breathe out. “This is _private,_ okay? This is between me and Max. Just stop.”

Joyce sighs on the other end. Chloe can practically hear her rubbing her eyebrows. “All right, Chloe. You don’t have to swear.”

“I know. I—It’s something I gotta talk to her about.” Chloe feels herself deflating, because she knows how true that is and maybe she doesn’t really _want_ to talk about but she _has_ to and ugh. This sucks.

“I’ll leave you alone. Tell Max I said hi, okay? I really am happy for you — all of you, I mean. It’s a good thing.”

“I guess.”

“You get Max to pull you outta your funk right this instant, young lady.”

Chloe can’t help but chuckle. Mom knows them too well. “Even if I don’t, she’ll drag me in eventually. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Chloe.”

As she hangs up the phone, Chloe groans and stretches herself across the couch, throwing the device onto the coffee table as she rubs her face. Stop it. Everything in your head is stupid bullshit. You’re not pathetic and you’re not worthless and marrying you wouldn’t be a huge misstep in Max’s life. Stop it. _Stop it._

Don’t fucking cry, at least, Jesus. Is that what Max wants to see when she gets home? Today, of all days? God, you’re so pathetic.

Chloe rakes her fingernails down her face. She wants Max to come home because Max always always pulls her out of this and she wants Max to never come home so she doesn’t have to explain _this._ Her, being a total mess, again.

Chloe gets up for a minute and grabs an old scrapbook from their bedroom, the one with Vanessa’s blue butterfly on the cover. She breathes out slowly, flipping through, trying to remind herself that Max loves her and that she’s okay, she’s fine, she’s fine. But this thing is sort of a crapshoot when it comes to lifting her mood, especially every time she gets to the “October and Everything After” section. And the blue feather at the end, plucked from thin air at the end of Max’s senior year, that weird supernatural artifact. It tingles as Chloe runs her fingers through it, electric. Rachel’s in there somewhere. Rachel, who was probably planning to abandon her anyway.

Chloe swears and throws the scrapbook onto the coffee table. So sometimes it makes her think Rachel was watching out for them and sometimes it just makes her remember all the pain they left behind in the bay, and today it’s the latter. Fuck. Why can’t her brain just be fucking _consistent?_

Max walks through the door, letting out a happy sigh as Chloe puts her hands in her lap and tries not to be obvious. Max has this adorable dopey smile on her face as soon as their eyes meet.

“Did you hear?” she asks.

“Was all anyone talked about all damned day,” Chloe mutters, looking away.

Max’s face instantly shifts from happy to concerned, her brow furrowing, a little frown on her lips. She drops her bag by the door and shuts it, then takes a seat on the edge of the couch, next to Chloe’s head. “Everyone can get married now,” she says quietly. “That was always your line, right?”

Chloe turns over and faces the back of the couch. She feels Max’s fingers threading through her hair and shivers, tingles running down the back of her neck. Sometimes she wishes that Max wasn’t so damned good at this.

“Chloe?”

“It was always just an excuse,” Chloe admits. “Sounded more punk-rock than ‘anytime I think about it I freak the fuck out.’”

“...why?” Max tugs at her shoulder, but Chloe shakes her head. Saying this shit out loud is hard enough without seeing Max’s face. She always looks so fucking worried and sad and anxious whenever Chloe does this and that’s why they can’t get married.

“It’s — it’s too _permanent,_ you know? Like...Like I’m not...I’m not _going_ anywhere. You should just dump my ass the second you get outta college. I’m never gonna be the wife you deserve, I’m always gonna...” Chloe grunts at herself. “I’m gonna weigh you down. You should be free.”

“Chloe.” Max’s voice is surprisingly hard. “I don’t care how many times I have to say this. You are the best thing in my whole life. Constantly. Every day I get to come home to you is a good one. Living together like this _rules._ If you’re ‘weighing me down’ it’s because I want to be down here with you. I mean, what are my plans? Go through school and like, pray someone notices me and does all the hard work so I can just _be_ a successful photographer? I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.”

“Bullshit. You’re talented as hell and you’re determined and—”

“I am literally working at McDonald’s,” Max reminds her, indicating her uniform. “ _You_ on the other hand are making yourself a little career. Yeah, it’s not white-collar, but you’re making good money! And you like it, right?”

Chloe purses her lips. Well. Finding out what’s wrong with things and knowing how to fix them, it’s sort of soothing. It’s concrete. It feels good when she finds something Glenn missed, and...

“I guess.”

“So you’re better off than me already.”

“No, I’m not, like, a fucking artist, I’ve got no talent, you could grab anyone off the street and—”

“Chloe.” Max pulls Chloe so she’s on her back, and then quite suddenly gets on top of her, staring right into her eyes. “I love you. Remember? That’s not replaceable. You’re not replaceable.”

God, her eyes are gorgeous. And every time Max is on top of Chloe, Chloe tends to lose focus on whatever she was thinking about. And that’s happening pretty fast right now until Max kisses her.

“I—I’m still kind of...” Chloe averts her eyes. “I dunno, Max. It still freaks me out. Tying you down with paperwork and stuff. Big ceremonies that cost lots of money and—”

“I’m not proposing,” Max interrupts. “Jeez, Chloe, I’m not even twenty yet. We’ve got plenty of time. I’m not going anywhere. I want to, someday, but not before you’re totally on-board.” She runs a finger down Chloe’s jawline. “No pressure. Okay?”

Chloe melts, sinking further into the couch and Max’s eyes. “Okay.”

“That’s what I thought.”

With that, Max flips herself over so she’s sitting in Chloe’s lap, her head just below Chloe’s chin. “It’s gonna be awesome,” she murmurs, nestling in as Chloe wraps her arms around her and feels her breathe. “Find a pretty place in the mountains somewhere. Kate can officiate.”

“Uh, Max, is she register—”

“And I’ll wear a suit, and you’ll be in the dress...”

“No fucking way,” Chloe objects. “No, no, that—”

“My fantasy,” Max insists. “It’ll be black. Cupless, too, and it’ll hang from your piercings...”

“Okay, Max, I’m pretty sure that’s physically impossible and also like hella too kinky for Kate to handle,” Chloe says, stifling a laugh.

“Well, until you come up with your own fantasy, that’s what’s happening,” Max teases, humming to herself as Chloe runs her hands up and down her sides.

“Fuck fantasies,” Chloe murmurs, leaning down and kissing Max’s ear. “Let’s make some realities.”

Max giggles as Chloe lifts off her shirt, and everything is light again. Like always when Max is near.

It feels so good to have her permission to wait, though. So good to not be under any pressure. And as Chloe lies beside Max that night, she thinks, definitely. This is the only girl who’s ever been this perfect. The only girl who makes Chloe’s head shut up. She can’t let her get away.

Chloe can see it now, making this all official. Making it real, not just some extended daydream that’ll end once Max comes to her senses. She imagines having a ring around her finger to mark their connection, and it makes her heart swell in her chest.

But she’ll be wearing the fucking suit. She’s got some dignity left.

  



End file.
